The sapphire-like light flickered, its brilliance filling the air. Vishnu extended his hand, connecting with the radiant blue orb. He turned his palm upward, and the light hovered above it, glowing with a mysterious energy.

"This," Vishnu said, his voice deep and resonant, "comes from Hiranyakashipu and Narasimha—the combined anger and arrogance of both."

He paused, his gaze firm and resolute. "Now that I have extracted it, I will send it to the Akash Ganga. Let the pure light of the stars cleanse it."

With a flick of his finger, the light shot through the void, racing out of Kailash toward the distant stars that twinkled in the night sky.

The Devas watched in awe, the truth dawning on them.

"So this is what happened," Surya murmured in understanding. "The Lord has returned, and Narasimha has calmed down. But why did the avatar of Vishnu transform into Ugra Narasimha?"

Just then, the presence of Shiva, Brahma, and the Sarasvati materialized before the gathered Devas.

"Pranam to the Mahadev!" the Devas chanted in unison, bowing low in reverence.

"Pranam to Brahmadev!"

"Pranam to the Devi Sarasvati!"

The Devas and Rishis clasped their hands together in respectful prayer, their heads bowed in admiration. Shiva remained silent, walking forward with purpose. The Devas parted in reverence as he made his way to the sage Rishi Dadhichi, who lay on the ground.

"Pranam Mahadev!" Dadhichi called out, his voice tinged with regret. "Lord, my bones are broken. Forgive me for not being able to stand and offer my Pranam."

Rishi Dadhichi raised his head, clasping his hands, a faint sorrow in his eyes. It pained him that his body, broken in service, prevented him from giving his full homage to the Lord.

"Rishi Dadhichi," Shiva spoke gently, his voice warm with compassion. "You were injured while protecting Kailash. I will bless you, and your bones will be indestructible."

With a smile, Shiva raised his right hand.

Whoosh!

Golden light erupted from his palm, cascading down upon Rishi Dadhichi. The light flowed into his body, filling him with a new, radiant vitality. Dadhichi's eyes widened with surprise, and he leaped to his feet, his body infused with divine energy.

"Pranam to the Svarga!" he cried, his voice filled with astonishment and gratitude. He bowed deeply, stamping his feet in joy.

Witnessing this, Indra's heart stirred. He raised his Vajra, watching closely as Rishi Dadhichi stood, marveling at the sage's transformation.

Wait... Indra thought, narrowing his eyes. Isn't Rishi Dadhichi the future Vajra, the weapon I will wield?

Indra blinked, his thoughts swirling like storm clouds over the battlefield. If memory served him correctly, the fate of Svarga had always been shaped by cycles of conflict and betrayal, and many of them had stemmed from his fraught relationship with Tvashtr, the divine craftsman.

Tvashtr, the celestial shaper of forms, was no ordinary artisan. He was the one who had forged Indra's Vajra, the thunderbolt that could shatter mountains, from the bones of the sage Dadhichi. But his influence stretched far beyond craftsmanship. He was the preparer of Soma, the sacred elixir of the devas, and through his daughter, Saranyu, an ancestor of humans. Even so, despite all he had given, despite all he had created, Tvashtr and Indra had never seen eye to eye.

The tension between them had been brewing for an eternity. It all started with the Soma Ras. Tvashtr had feared Indra's hunger for power and had barred him from partaking in a great yajna, keeping the divine elixir from his reach. But Indra had never been one to accept denial. He had stormed the sacred rites, his presence like a tempest, and stolen the Soma Ras with the sheer audacity that only the king of the Devas could possess. The golden liquid had burned down his throat, filling him with power, with divinity, with an undeniable high. And in that moment, he had felt unstoppable.

But the theft had been the spark that set their enmity ablaze.

It was Vishvarupa, Tvashtr's son, who had escalated things further. Vishvarupa, the three-headed priest, had served the Devas, chanting mantras, offering oblations, and guiding their yajnas. But even as he poured Soma for them, he whispered prayers for the Asuras—his mother's kin, his secret allegiance. When Indra learned the truth, his fury had been absolute.

There had been no trial. No deliberation. No mercy.

With a single strike of the Vajra, Vishvarupa's three heads had been severed from his shoulders, each one cursed to take a new form—one as a sparrow, one as a partridge, and the last as a pigeon. The ground had been soaked in divine blood, and with it, Indra had sealed his fate.

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The weight of Brahma-hatya descended upon him like a great darkness. Even the heavens recoiled from him. The air had turned heavy, the cosmic balance disturbed by his act. And so, Indra had fled, abandoning his throne, seeking penance for a crime the cosmos would not forgive so easily.

But Tvashtr had not forgiven either.

Enraged at the death of his son, he had called upon his power, shaping his vengeance with his own hands. With fire and mantra, with wrath and sorrow, he had forged a new being—one that would crush Indra, that would erase him from the heavens.

Vritra.

A beast of impossible strength, a serpent vast enough to coil around the world, a demon whose very existence defied the Devas. He had swallowed the celestial waters, choking the world in drought. The Devas had trembled before him, powerless, broken.

Indra, still reeling from his self-imposed exile, had been helpless. For the first time, the king of the Devas had been defeated.

But fate had a way of favoring the bold.

Tvashtr had made a single mistake—a flaw, so small, so subtle, buried within the very incantation that had birthed Vritra. The words that should have made the demon invincible had instead left him vulnerable, just enough for Indra to find his opening. Guided by Vishnu's wisdom, wielding the Vajra once more, he had struck down Vritra, reclaiming his throne and his honor.

The memory of this conflict lingered in Indra's mind, shaping his thoughts about the present and future. His grip on the Vajra tightened as he reflected on the recurring theme of betrayal and vengeance.

As his mind continued to spiral, Indra quickly shook his head, dismissing these thoughts. That's all in the future, he reminded himself. Tvashtr won't cause trouble... not yet, at least.

He let out a deep breath. And if anything happens, I'll be ready. If I train hard enough, Vritra won't be able to touch me. At worst, I'll handle whatever comes my way, and the Trimurti will have my back.

Indra's gaze shifted to Rishi Dadhichi, who stood nearby. I won't let anyone else make unnecessary sacrifices, he resolved. If things go awry, the Trimurti will handle it, but I'll be prepared to run if I need to.

As these thoughts swirled in his mind, the Narasimha, still standing at a distance, raised his hands in prayer and bowed his head.

Shiva and Brahma nodded in acknowledgment.

Slowly, the Narasimha turned around, his hands clasped together as he looked directly at Indra. Although the poison of Halahala had been purged from his body, the blue tinge still lingered on his lion-like face.

"Pranam Indra!" Narasimha's voice was filled with reverence. "It was your wisdom and strength that calmed me from my rage and protected the entire world. I thank you, great King of Svarga!"

His eyes sparkled with gratitude as he looked up at Indra, his hands still pressed in prayer.

Indra cleared his throat, his chest swelling with pride despite himself. He coughed twice to hide his discomfort. "You're welcome. It's my duty as the King of Svarga," he said with a modest wave.

The Narasimha's slender beard quivered, his expression softening with emotion. "The King of Svarga is so kind."

Indra couldn't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment at the praise, but he kept his composure, determined not to show any weakness. Still, the weight of Narasimha's gratitude hung in the air, and for a brief moment, Indra felt a deep sense of pride.

He clasped his hands together once more and saluted Indra, then transformed into a ray of golden light, soaring through the air before merging into the body of Vishnu, the protector of the world.

The doomsday disaster was finally resolved, and the Devas, filled with relief, celebrated their newfound peace.

Brihaspati, deep in thought, listened intently to the Lord's recounting of the events that had just unfolded. A look of regret crossed his face, for he lamented that he had no eyes outside his body and could not witness the scene firsthand.

He picked up his pen and began to write in the "Life of Indra."

"The Narasimha became enraged, and it was the King of Svarga, with his great wisdom and power, who awakened Narasimha from his fury. Together, they defeated Hiranyakashipu. Thus, they can be called the ones who defeated Hiranyakashipu. And since Narasimha expelled the Devas, leaving his lion's face still blue, he may be referred to as the Green-Faced Lord."

The sage then began to describe Indra. "The King of Svarga, also part of the group that defeated Hiranyakashipu, used his immense wisdom and strength, holding the vajra in his hand, to calm the enraged Narasimha."

He paused, pondering what title to bestow upon Indra.

Rishi Brihaspati recalled the marks on Narasimha's forehead and an idea suddenly flashed through his mind.

"I've got it!"

Quickly, Brihaspati picked up his pen again.

"The King of Svarga, with great wisdom, struck the Narasimha on the head with his vajra, awakening the furious lion-headed Narasimha. Hence, he may be called the 'Awakener of Furious.'"

Rishi Brihaspati continued with a grin, writing, "In future generations, when one encounters an angry person, they may use weapons such as sticks, or hammers to strike their heads and shout at them to awaken their sanity."

This event was witnessed by the great Brihaspati himself, and he assured that there was no falsehood in his words.

Satisfied with his work, Rishi Brihaspati smiled contentedly.

Meanwhile, Sage Rishi Atri arrived at Vishnu's side, his son Soma in tow.

"Lord Vishnu!" Rishi Atri exclaimed, his face etched with regret. "I apologize for the anger I expressed earlier and the curse I laid upon you."

Clasping his hands together, Rishi Atri knelt before Vishnu, his heart heavy with remorse.

Vishnu smiled warmly, raising a hand to gently lift Rishi Atri to his feet. "There is no need to worry," he said, his voice soothing. "All of this is part of karmic consequence. Everything in the world is bound by karma. This, too, is part of the balance that maintains the world. I accept your curse."

His smile never faltered.

"As this disaster has passed and my Vaikuntha has been newly restored, why don't we all gather there? Come, let us meet and celebrate in Vaikuntha."

Vishnu opened his arms in invitation, a warm gesture to the Devas, beckoning them to come together in the serene realm of Vaikuntha.

...

Amidst the vast expanse of the starry sky, Goddess Lakshmi floated gracefully, her hands gently plucking stars as if they were delicate jewels.

Suddenly, a spark of brilliance caught her attention. Her eyes, radiant and full of wonder, blinked in surprise. In the corner of her gaze, she caught a glimpse of a dazzling, sapphire-like light that shimmered with an otherworldly glow.

"Huh?" she murmured, her breath catching.

"So beautiful..." she whispered, captivated by the ethereal light.